


What's Up, Omens?

by Alienslikedmyfantasy



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Anathema is Eunice, Aziraphale is Howard, Aziraphale is engaged to Anathema, Comedy, Crowley is Judy, Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), F/F, Hijinks & Shenanigans, I'll update the tags as I go, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romantic Comedy, What's Up Doc? 1972 AU, What's Up Doc? AU, for now..., screwball comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienslikedmyfantasy/pseuds/Alienslikedmyfantasy
Summary: Aziraphale Bannister came to San Francisco to compete for winnings in ~The National Book Collecting Contest~. Already an absentminded book collector, little did Aziraphale know he could become even more distracted. Anthony J. Crowley lives out of his overnight case and always gets what he wants. He did just want something to eat, but after seeing Aziraphale, well, his motives may have changed a bit. Meanwhile, a rich widow’s jewels have been stolen and a government whistleblower has stolen some top secret documents.Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Anathema Device, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Anathema Device, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	What's Up, Omens?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever full length fanfiction! 
> 
> Special thanks to elizabethelizabeth. You inspired me to actually write something and I am ineffably grateful. Thank you so, so much and I really hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Please do not post to other sites without my explicit permission.

_San Francisco, 1972_

After being thrown out of a cab, Crowley decided that it was a nice day for a walk. He hadn’t been in San Francisco long, but he was enjoying himself thoroughly. The sun was shining[1], and the city was coming alive around him. The cars, the trolleys, the people. He was broke and had about eleven pennies burning a hole in his pocket, so he went wherever his feet would take him[2].

Besides his pennies, the only other thing he carried was an overnight case filled with his clothes, and anything else he thought he may need. This included a sewing kit and an encyclopedia, among other items.

Anthony J. Crowley was a restless young man. He wore black pants along and an orange shirt with strange designs that, if closely inspected, looked very much like snakes having a dance party[3]. He also wore an old jacket, black snakeskin boots, a rather puffy newsboy cap, and a pair of sunglasses that he was rarely seen without.

Along with his restlessness, Crowley was extremely reckless. When crossing the street, he made sure to ignore every traffic law he possibly could. It was only when he was on the other side of the street, and the noise of angry drivers had settled, that Crowley noticed the rumbling coming from his stomach. He needed something to eat, or at least drink, and fast. Not knowing where his lanky legs might carry him, he started up the hill.

From where Crowley was, if you took the second right (which was actually a left that turned and curved to become a right eventually), there was an airport. It was filled with tourists and families of course, but also with strangers and their luggage. A particular case (that was startlingly similar to the one Crowley was currently lugging up a hill) is sitting on a shelf behind the checkroom counter of the airport with a small golden tag on its handle. 

There were three pairs of eyes all focused on the case. One pair of eyes belonged to the owner of said case. At the moment, they were sitting uncomfortably and anxious in a cramped, blue chair, waiting to collect their overnight case. The second pair belonged to the attendant behind the counter; an observant and conscientious worker who checks the shelf every few seconds. And the third pair belonged to a strange and smug looking fellow who sat on a nearby bench hugging a leather golfing bag. He had been in the airport since the early hours of the morning.

The smug man is wearing a brown, wrinkled suit that seems to be a size too big for him. He is middle aged and nearly bald. This man is named ‘Sandlephon’. But to keep it simple, and because he was tired of people mispronouncing his name, he is called Mr. Jones.

The person claiming the overnight bag is actually named ‘Uriel’. But, since they need to keep a low profile as well, they are currently going by Smith.

Smith walks up to the counter as the attendant tears the ticket. With a nod and a nervous smile, Smith slides the case to the end of the counter. After looking around in a suspicious manner, Smith opens the case. As Smith peers inside, the attendant watches from the corner of their eye. The case is filled with documents and manila folders. Each had either the words **‘Confidential’** or **‘Top Secret’** in bright red letters. They might as well have said **‘For God’s Eyes Only’**.

Smith gave a small smirk, closed the bag, and walked away, clearly pleased with the case’s contents.

The attendant sees this and nervously grabs a crimson handkerchief from their pocket. Shakily, they wipe it across their forehead. Now this would have unnerved Smith if they saw it, as it looked uncannily like a signal.

It was, in fact, a signal.

Smith did not notice this, as they were distracted by an old woman with an excessive amount of luggage and one yapping poodle. But Mr. Jones did. Catching the signal, he crushes the last of his many cigarettes under his shoe as he watches Smith. Gingerly, Smith slips past the old woman after a moment or two and continues towards the exit.

Smith is much younger than Mr. Jones and is wearing a cheaply made gray suit with shoes in desperate need of a shine. In other words, Smith is easily forgotten and lost in a crowd. That’s something they are going to change.

Mr. Jones throws his golf bag over his shoulder and heads towards the exit, following Smith. He must not let the overnight case out of his sight.

Crowley has had enough of this blasted mountain of a hill.

_This is ridiculous. Who thought hills were a good idea anyway?_

It’s still warm out and the sun is shining brightly, but at this angle, it will surely set soon. He’s still hungry and will settle for nothing less than exactly what he wants...or at least whatever’s in the boxes. After all, he does have standards.

His overnight bag has been growing heavier, and, after thinking for a moment, Crowley adjusts his dark glasses, shifts the bag’s weight to his other hand, and walks on.

About a block or two later, Crowley stops, smells the air, and wanders over to look through a window. Inside, a chef is creating something that smells rather scrummy.

Crepes.

Crowley watches the thin delicacy as the chef flips it once, then again. He licks his lips and makes eye contact with the chef. Overconfident, the chef flips the crepe again, just a little too hard, and it refuses to make a reappearance.

Crowley looks up expectantly, then down at the chef. Realizing his mistake, the chef scowls at Crowley as he steps onto the counter. With a smile and a shrug, Crowley turns to leave the man to peel the poor crepe from the ceiling.

Around the corner, a man is whistling and carrying boxes of goodies to be delivered elsewhere. Crowley watches the delivery boy for a moment, licks his lips and follows him, crossing the middle of an intersection and causing a small motorcycle accident as he goes.

While Smith and Jones were leaving the terminal, a plane had arrived. Its passengers had just disembarked, and most of them were now waiting in line for their luggage to be claimed. I say most of them because one particularly lost looking man has just made his way down the escalator.

His name is Aziraphale Bannister. He is wearing small, round glasses that he only really needs for reading, but he is forgetful and wears them often[4].

Besides his unnecessary glasses, Aziraphale is currently wearing a crooked bowtie, a white collared shirt, and a nice striped jacket. He also holds an overnight bag identical to that of Smith’s, and, coincidentally, to Crowley’s as well.

He began to look around aimlessly, nervously shifting his weight and fidgeting his hands when he spotted a sign reading ‘Food Court’. His face lit up like the sun, and with a gentle smile gracing his face, he took about two steps forward. Eager to try the local cuisine, he stopped when he heard a voice from above.

“Aziraphale?”

_Oh dear._

“Aziraphale! There you are. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Well, you see, I was feeling a bit peckish...”

“You know we have to be at the hotel before the banquet starts. And we had a meeting place, you can’t just leave before I get there.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry Anathema.”

Aziraphale’s dear friend and now fiancée Anathema had tagged along as his plus one for the banquet. She had always been there for Aziraphale. They had been friends since they were children. When they were old enough, their parents had recommended that they marry. They thought it seemed logical, so they agreed. Plus she knew how to keep him focused...well...she used to.

Anathema was a little younger than Aziraphale. She too wore rounded glasses, but she actually needed them. She also wore a relatively nice blue dress, heels, and carried a small matching purse. Anathema was never well known for her fashion prowess.

She sighed, “It’s alright Aziraphale, but we better be on our way, we don’t want to be late.”

“Yes Anathema.”

They walked out of the airport, to Aziraphale’s dismay, without a snack, and a man helped load their luggage into a taxi as Mr. Jones grabbed a cab pointing after the one the Smith had just rode away in.

Anathema and Aziraphale get into their cab and head towards the hotel.

“It’s a beautiful city, isn’t Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale had his overnight case on his lap and was gently browsing his book collection.

“I’d like to come here on our honeymoon.”

He pulls out a book to inspect the cover.

“Did you hear me Aziraphale?”

He’s in his own world now, not listening. The books always took him to new and grand places, even when he wasn’t reading them.

“I said I’d like to come here on our honeymoon.”

Anathema was patiently staring at Aziraphale.

“What? I thought you wanted to go to San Francisco on our honeymoon.”

“This is San Francisco”

“Oh, of-of course it is” he smiled nervously.

That was the exact moment that Crowley decided to cross the street. He had been following the delivery boy with his delicious smelling boxes for a few blocks now and was damned if he couldn’t get his hands on at least one box.

The taxi driver slammed on the brakes, sending Aziraphale’s book onto the floor and his and Anathema’s heads bouncing into the back of the seats.

“Oh!”

“Hey! Whatcha tryin’ to do, get yourself killed?!” The driver yelled, his head out the window, as Crowley shrugged and continued to walk in front of the car, smiling at the angry man. “Are you alright back there?”

Aziraphale rubbed his head as he examined his book, “Oh I do hope nothing’s broken.”

“Oh it’s just a bump Aziraphale” Anathema reassured.

“No-”

“Don’t overdramatize.”

“I mean my Dickens” Aziraphale stroked the spine of his book. “Oh I do hope nothing’s damaged.”

“I know how ya feel mister,” the driver put his arm around the seat to look back at the pair. “I hate it when my Dickens are even touched” The driver sympathized.

Turning around, he continued to drive up the hill with a watchful eye while Aziraphale and Anathema sat dumbstruck in the back seat.

[1] And he loved a good sunbath.

[2] He was broke, so what else is there to do?

[3] You may be thinking ‘Do snakes dance?’ Well why are you asking me?

[4] Plus he thinks they look quite nifty.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!
> 
> I won't have a posting schedule as school is about to start up again. This is a story that will take a while for me to tell.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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